Hidden in the Grass
by rhongomyniad123
Summary: Due to a fortunate accident, Harry is separated from the Dursleys a couple years earlier than planned. The catch? He's separated from the rest of civilization as well. HP/DG, Slytherin!Harry
1. Prologue

**Hey everyone! This is my first story, and the plot is still a WIP, so don't expect posts too often. That being said, I'd love to hear the initial reception to these first couple chapters.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't need to write this.**

"Dialogue"

 _Thoughts_

" _Parseltongue"_

 **~Number 4, Privet Drive~**

Privet Drive was a perfectly ordinary street.

It ran between two rows of perfectly manicured lawns, clear of litter or debris. This was in large part due to the resident flock of housewives, which set upon it the morning after their children had finished their Halloween revels like a flock of pigeons, picking its bones clean of crushed chocolates and scraps of paper.

A casual glimpse down the street would reveal nothing unexpected: rows of hedges, the occasional tree, and a cat, perched on the corner between Number 3 and Number 4.

This particular cat, however, was anything but ordinary.

Stretching, the tabby looked around, shook itself out, and sauntered to the end of the street, just in time to witness what appeared to be a spontaneous burst of golden flame.

"Where have you been, Albus!" Minerva McGonagall hissed angrily, transforming in time to meet the man stepping out of the flames with a bundle in his arms.

"Hagrid returned with the boy as quickly as he was able to, my dear."

"I can't believe it's really over. And all because of this child?"

"His parents sacrificed themselves to save him," Albus replied. "And love may very well be one of the most powerful magics there is."

"Almost as powerful as Lily's blood magic, no doubt. She always was a clever one, poor girl," McGonagall lamented. "What shall happen to him now, Albus? This family will not care for a child such as he. Why, I even saw them unplug the television when it started showing a magic show!"

"Alas, Minerva, these are his last blood relatives. The protections I can put in place here will be much stronger than if he were to stay with anyone else." So saying, Albus Dumbledore touched his wand to the scar on the infant's head, withdrawing a last drop of blood and sealing it. With grand, flowing motions, he bound layer after layer of invisible protections to the house. "As long as he can call this place home, these wards will protect him from the magic of those that wish him harm."

"As you wish, Albus." McGonagall vanished with a muted _crack_.

As Dumbledore laid the child on the step of Number 4, withdrawing a letter from his voluminous robes to lay alongside him, a soft hoot caught his attention. Fawkes hovered over the boy, glaring reproachfully as Dumbledore sighed.

"I had hoped this would not get between us, my friend," Dumbledore sighed. "It pains me as well, but this must be done for the Greater Good. The Wizarding World needs this too much for it to be any other way."

Fawkes crooned in disappointment, before vanishing in a puff of flame. Sighing again, Dumbledore trudged back to the street, gazing at the small, vulnerable bundle until another _crack_ was heard and he vanished, leaving the street vacant once again.

Unbeknownst to its residents, however, Privet Drive had become anything but ordinary.

For it was now the home of an extraordinary boy by the name of Harry Potter.

 **~An Unnamed Forest, Albania~**

"Argh!" Voldemort hissed as he Apparated yet again, forcing himself onward despite his near-exhaustion. There was no danger of splinching himself, he reasoned, not now that his physical form had been destroyed during the clash between him and the Potters. Though that didn't help much in dealing with magical exhaustion. Even he, the greatest wizard of his time, had to admit that he had limits, and he was quickly approaching them.

One last jump landed him in Albania, surrounded by forest for miles in every direction. He couldn't help but remember the last time he had visited this particular forest. He was much more powerful now, he supposed, and less prone to bouts of the awe he had displayed then, when he found Ravenclaw's diadem. One of the anchors that even now bound him to this world, stronger than even the most powerful of lethal magics.

But what had stopped him from killing the boy? It must have been at least as powerful as his curse, Voldemort grudgingly admitted, to be able to deflect it almost completely away from the child. And it wasn't magic he had ever seen before, despite his lengthy travels and willingness to delve into the _darker_ side, where true power was found. No, it was either something ancient and potent, or something entirely new.

More pressing, however, than the nature of the magic, was the puzzle of where it came from.

 _It couldn't have been the boy, could it?_

 _No_ , Voldemort thought, _impossible._ Accidental magic of that scale was unheard of. _It must have been the mother,_ he decided. For all his skill in dueling, James Potter was not known for his talent in magical research. The Mudblood must have been researching the old magics, Voldemort deduced. Only blood magic could be that powerful, and it was inconceivable that she had managed to create something so strong by herself. _She must have used her death to protect her son,_ he concluded with a grimace.

 _At least the protection is gone. With her death, their power will have dissipated by now._ No one had ever managed blood magic that could last long beyond the life of its creator. The boy would be under the protection of that fool Dumbledore by now, however, and he did not have enough power to strike again so soon in any case.

"That blasted prophecy!" he hissed, scaring away the few animals curious enough to approach the clearing he occupied. His Death Eaters would have scattered without him, setting his conquest of Britain back decades. He needed to rebuild his army if he was to have any chance of regaining the control he once had. _Perhaps some traveling is in order. There are many on the Continent that crave the power I offer, and they would jump at the opportunity to reinstitute the regime they took part in under Grindelwald._ He would have his revenge, he decided. And those that once stood in his path would be utterly obliterated to make way for the new order, as he took up the mantle of ruler of Wizarding Britain.

" _Come to me, my servants,_ " he called in Parseltongue. As he listened to the cacophony of hissed responses, he smiled.

He would have his revenge, and Harry Potter would perish.


	2. Chapter 1

**Here's Chapter 1, the rest of the material I actually have written already. Don't expect an update for a while.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

 **~The Many Hardships of Harry Potter~**

Harry James Potter was not having a good day.

This in itself was not surprising. Harry rarely had the chance to have fun, and between the constant chores and hiding from Dudley, such moments were often spent in his cupboard, catching whatever brief amounts of sleep he could manage before Aunt Petunia or Dudley would yank him out to begin the cycle anew. No, what made this particular day so surprising was that Harry Potter had _expected_ to have a good day, an occurrence which happened so infrequently that Harry had meticulously planned every detail of his schedule so as to not waste it.

To Harry, it seemed that this day was very reluctant to follow his plan.

After being woken up at 4 AM (2 hours earlier than expected), Harry was forced to complete his morning chores, because, as Aunt Petunia put it, the least he could do in return for being allowed to go on that silly school trip was tend to the house before he disregarded his duties for the next 2 days.

After watering the garden, cooking breakfast, washing the windows, and cooking breakfast _again_ (Dudley had eaten the first before Uncle Vernon got to the table), Harry was more than ready to leave.

Unfortunately, this meant being crammed into the back of Uncle Vernon's brand-new company car with his one bag and Dudley's three, while Vernon drove them to school so they could catch the bus to the school's camping trip up north.

"Be grateful your school requires everyone to go, _boy_ , or we'd have kept you home to do chores with Petunia. You'll be expected to make up the difference when you're back," Uncle Vernon growled.

"That's _if_ he makes it back, Dad. Piers and I have plans for him once we get there, since we can't use our game consoles tonight. Maybe he'll be lost in the woods forever!" Dudley grinned and shifted his seat backwards, banging Harry's knees against the seat. Harry bit back a yelp of pain and shifted in his seat.

"Alright Dudders," Uncle Vernon said as they pulled up to the school bus. "Have the boy bring your bags on, and don't forget to have him set up your tent. Wouldn't want the freak to get _too_ comfortable up there, would we?" The aforementioned freak quickly hopped out of the car, unloading the bags with a muffled groan as his bruised knees almost buckled from the weight. He quickly loaded them onto the bus, finding himself a spot near the back and away from Dudley's gang of friends.

Despite the morning's events, Harry couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of spending a night out in the forest. He had always liked the woods, a haven of peace and solitude away from the incessant demands of Aunt Petunia and the constant harassment of Dudley and his friends. Leaning against the window, he savored the moment away from his relatives, gently drifting off into peaceful sleep.

A few hours later, Harry found himself shaken awake as the bus rolled to a stop. As he blearily looked around, he noticed Dudley's gang making their way towards him. Recovering, he quickly grabbed his bag and hopped off the bus, taking refuge in the throng of fellow classmates chattering excitedly about the trip. Glancing around, he saw nothing but lush green forest. _Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all,_ he thought. If nothing else, there were plenty of places to hide from Dudley. _Speaking of which, I'd better start moving. Looks like they've found me again._

Managing to avoid Dudley and his crew for the next few hours, Harry procured the help of his teacher in setting up his tent on the edge of the clearing. Far from the chattering cluster of children near the campfire, who were splitting off into groups of friends following dinner, Harry gazed out across the campsite. With the bus gone and the rest of the group busy, he was by and large alone, secluded in his peaceful corner of nature.

This tranquility, however, was not to last.

A rustle in the bushes caught Harry's attention. _Drat._ Dudley's gang had snuck behind him while he was distracted. Leaping to his feet, Harry turned to run, before a pair of sweaty, meaty hands grabbed him by the shoulders. Harry opened his mouth to shout for help when he spotted a fist coming toward his jaw and his world went dark.

 _Who knew Dudley could punch so hard?_ Harry thought, opening his eyes and blearily looking around. It seemed as though they had dragged him away from the campsite while he was unconscious.

"Oi, he's awake!"

 _Drat._

Harry stood, turning to face the person shouting. Piers Polkiss had never been the strongest of Dudley's friends, but he was fast and cunning, easily able to overtake Harry should he try to escape. As Harry contemplated his options, the rest of Dudley's 9-year-old gang emerged, chuckling.

"Cmon, _freak,_ we've got something extra-special set up just for you!"

As Harry was seized and pulled along through the forest, he wondered what was in store for him. Dudley wasn't the brightest and usually resorted to beating him up. This time, though, they were taking him somewhere, and if their scruffy, mud-stained clothes were any indication, they had spent a while in the forest. making something undoubtedly painful or humiliating. He was soon snapped out of his contemplation as the rest of the boys stopped at the tree line, looking over the edge of a steep drop, glee twisting their faces.

"Hurry up Dudley, get your matches out!"

It was then that Harry saw what they had planned. On a small ledge jutting out over the slope, they had built a barrier of logs and kindling, which Dudley was preparing to light.

"Hold on, put the freak on the ledge first!"

Snickering in anticipation, the boys shoved Harry onto the far side of the ledge, just as Dudley managed to light the fire. Stumbling, Harry tried to cross the pile of wood back to safety, only to be hit by a fist-sized rock, thrown by Piers. Harry fell to his knees as more rocks flew toward him, pelting the arms he crossed over his face. As a rock slipped through and shattered his glasses, Harry noticed the fire had grown, engulfing the barrier and the logs the boys delightedly threw on.

"Look, Dudley, the fire must be a meter tall by now! The gas we brought worked!" Piers' excited shouts caught Harry's attention.

 _Why are they doing this to me?_

As Harry crouched down, panting, he could feel the heat of the flames moving closer. There was no path left for him to escape the ledge. Shivering in fear, Harry inched away, curling up into a ball. As the flames crept forward, licking at his legs, Harry cried out in pain.

 _Why do I always have to suffer?_

There was no way to escape this one, Harry thought. Sooner or later the flames would cover the entire ledge, and then he'd be forced to choose between falling and being burnt to a crisp.

 _They're the ones who should burn, not me!_

As Harry's fear turned to rage, he felt something shatter in the back of his mind, and his body was overtaken with a rush of cold, crackling energy. Howling in pain as the energy tore through his body, he barely managed to see the fire double in size, before coalescing into . . . was that a _stag?_

Whatever it was, the flame creature prepared to charge at the boys, who, screaming, ran back into the forest. The creature stared after them, stomping its foot, before the fire moved to engulf the trees, moving away from Harry's ledge.

Gasping in relief as the heat died down, Harry tried to stand, only to hear a sharp _crack_ as the ledge finally gave up its hold on the slope. Harry tumbled down the slope, rocks and branches slicing thin cuts across his arms and legs.

After an eternity, Harry finally came to a stop. Looking back up the slope, where the fire continued to grow, Harry groaned. How would he make it back now? At least the slope was clear enough to prevent the fire from spreading to where he lay, sprawled across the forest floor.

" _Ssstupid, ssstupid, falling on my dinner. Idiot hairlesss monkey, why must you ruin my meal?"_

Blinking, Harry looked around. Where had that voice come from? And why did it sound so peculiar?

" _Why does this monkey not move off my plump, juicy mouse?"_

" _Who's there?"_ Harry called out. Why hadn't this person helped him after he fell? _At least their voice was becoming easier to understand. Still sounded weird, though._

" _It speaks! My apologies, speaker, for my harsh comments when you interrupted my meal. Forgive my rudeness, but you must be brought before the elders. A new speaker has not been found for decades."_

Attempting to search for the voice, Harry stood, immediately slamming his head on a low-hanging branch. Seeing stars, Harry collapsed, falling unconscious before his head hit the ground.

 **~Fawkes' Frustrations~**

Deep in the Scottish Highlands, within the walls of the ancient castle known as Hogwarts, Fawkes the phoenix was quite rudely awoken by a particularly obnoxious, high-pitched trill. Glancing around blearily, he identified it as coming from delicate silver instrument that was vibrating rather alarmingly. His partner, Albus Dumbledore, had created this instrument years before to monitor a certain set of wards.

Fawkes did not fully understand the old man's convoluted plan. He almost never did anymore, he thought, chirping sadly. Albus had changed greatly from the young idealist he had been when Fawkes first partnered with him.

When Fawkes seen that this particular plan involved the abandoning of a young, innocent boy, he had promptly refused to play any part in it. Albus had slipped too far this time, and Fawkes wasn't having it anymore.

Consequently, when the machine continued its incessant whining, Fawkes raised a claw and neatly sliced the gadget down the middle.

And when it _still_ wouldn't stop, he repeatedly slammed it against the desk, reducing it to a heap of twisted metal. Glancing around nervously, he carried it over to the table by the window, tucking it away behind the many other instruments kept there. Selecting one similar in appearance to the one he had recently dealt with, he carefully dropped it into place on Dumbledore's desk. With luck, the old goat wouldn't notice any difference.

Satisfied, Fawkes tucked his head under a wing and went back to sleep, hooting contentedly.

 **~A Story in the Making~**

"Wheeeeee!"

Astoria Greengrass ran through the garden, weaving between the startled house-elves. Diving under a bush, she grabbed the gnome she had been chasing, yanking it back from where it had attempted to hide.

"Astoria! Put that down at once!" Cygnus stood, dropping his copy of the _Prophet._ Gesturing to a nearby elf to deal with the gnome, he approached Astoria, who now stood contritely, hands behind her back.

"I was just having a bit of fun, Daddy," Astoria implored, not meeting his eyes.

"Regardless, Astoria, you are growing too old for this childish behavior."

Astoria shuffled her feet, embarrassed.

"Sit down, Astoria, there is something you need to know." Reclaiming his seat at the garden table, he waited until Astoria had perched herself across from him.

"Your mother . . . before she passed, your mother decided that you were to spend at least a year before Hogwarts at her family's estate."

"B-but Daddy, that would mean-"

"You'll be taken to France tonight. The Rosiers have prepared a room as well as transportation."

"T-tonight!" Astoria squeaked indignantly.

"They will arrive here promptly at 8. I suggest you ask the house-elves to help you pack."

"I won't! I won't go! This is my home. They can't take me away!" Astoria shrieked, her face scrunching up as tears threatened to burst forth.

Cygnus sighed. He had known Astoria would not take the news well. That was why he had delayed until the last possible moment. It gave her less time to brood, he reasoned; there was no sense in imparting the information earlier.

"Astoria, please. It was your mother's wish that you stay with her family. She wished for you to learn about your heritage and grow into a fine young woman at the estate, as she did while growing up."

Astoria jumped up and rushed inside. As she passed, Cygnus could just make out the tears already beginning to flow down her cheeks.

"Father-"

"You heard, Daphne?"

Daphne slipped through the French doors, taking Astoria's recently vacated seat.

"She's really leaving then?"

"I'm sorry, Daphne. I wanted to tell you earlier, but . . . I just wanted you to enjoy your remaining time with her." At that moment, Cygnus was not the proud, confident pureblood he appeared in public, but a weary single father, trying his best to raise his girls without their mother.

"I'm going to go find Story," Daphne whispered, rising from the table.

Cygnus sighed. He hoped he hadn't alienated his elder daughter as well; the next few years would be trying for all of them. Especially Astoria. He smiled thinly at the thought of Astoria's upcoming trip. The Rosiers were traditionalists: Astoria's bubbly energy was about as far from the reserved demeanor they would expect her to have as was possible. They would have a hard time coping with her antics; he only hoped that Astoria would be able to handle their strict rules and stern attitudes.

 _No sense dwelling on it_ , Cygnus decided. After all, there was much to be done. Heading inside, he set about the long and arduous task of preparing for the Rosiers' visit.

Hours later, when they had finally departed, taking a tearful but stoic Astoria with them, Cygnus returned to the garden, taking up his long forgotten _Daily Prophet_ and immersing himself in the latest on Minister Fudge's attempts to regulate the werewolf population. _Pandering to the masses as usual,_ Cygnus concluded, snorting.

Had he looked out over the forest that butted up against the back of the Greengrass estate, Cygnus would have been enthralled by a brilliant burst of flame, far out across the treetops, which briefly lit up the dusky sky before collapsing back into the depths of the forest.

 **~Serious Plotting~**

The year was 1989.

At least, according to the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ the guard had left for him. After all, without his wand Sirius had no way of tracking time in the dank, windowless cell, situated in the deepest level of Azkaban.

If it weren't for the Ministry's need to check if their prisoners were alive, he might have gone insane, Sirius reflected. As it was, he had come frighteningly close. Sirius chuckled.

 _The only reason I've kept my mind in this hellhole is knowing that I don't belong here._

The chuckle became a deep, rasping laugh, booming across the otherwise silent corridors. As it reached the cloaked wraiths hovering on the other side of the floor, they began to drift towards his cell, curious as to how someone had held on to happiness so close to their nest.

Quickly sobering, Sirius managed to shift into Padfoot seconds before the Dementors reached the cells.

 _Damn._ It was becoming harder and harder for him to shift. If he was locked up much longer, he'd be forced to choose between one form and the other.

Luckily, Sirius didn't plan on staying in Azkaban for long.

As the Dementors glided away, chittering angrily at the disappearance of their meal, Sirius grabbed the paper he had been given. Under his burning stare, it slowly transformed into a thin, metallic rod. Sirius smiled grimly.

Despite everything that had happened to him, Sirius Black was still a Marauder at heart.

And a Marauder always, _always_ went down fighting.


End file.
